Manila at a Crossroads: The Path to Truth and Justice?
As Rodrigo Duterte sits in custody, the Philippines faces a moment of reckoning. His arrest is more than the fall of a political figure—it is a test of the nation’s commitment to truth, justice, and accountability. Will Manila confront the past and uphold the rule of law, or will it descend into a dangerous cycle of impunity and retaliation? The lessons of history are clear: without accountability, violent ideologies do not disappear—they evolve into something far more insidious.
From DDS to a Lawless Underground?
(A hypothetical thought)
The Davao Death Squad (DDS), once a localized vigilante group under Duterte’s rule in Davao City, became the template for his national war on drugs. Reports from Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch document how thousands of suspected drug users and small-time dealers were gunned down, often by masked assailants riding motorcycles. These killings, conducted with police collusion or direct involvement, terrorized the urban poor while leaving high-level drug traffickers largely untouched.
Duterte’s governance was rooted in a deeply flawed interpretation of justice—one that prioritized brute force over due process. His rhetoric reflected this, frequently invoking violent imagery and encouraging extrajudicial executions. He seemed to embrace a distorted version of Mao Zedong’s famous assertion that “political power grows out of the barrel of a gun,” but failing to acknowledge Mao’s crucial caveat: “The Party commands the gun, and the gun must never be allowed to command the Party.” Duterte’s approach bore closer resemblance to the Khmer Rouge’s chilling mantra under Pol Pot: “To keep is no benefit, to lose is no loss.” His policies treated suspected drug offenders as disposable, dehumanized targets rather than citizens with rights.
With Duterte’s arrest, his most ardent supporters—those who viewed his strongman tactics as necessary for order—may refuse to accept the legitimacy of the charges against him. If emboldened factions within the DDS or security forces reject the authority of the state, they could morph into a rogue paramilitary force, operating outside the law and targeting perceived enemies. Just imagine the DDS becoming that, yearning for a reckoning similar to the Interahamwe’s infamous call to “cut the tall trees,” blaming the Tutsis for their woes. The DDS also shares this kind of mindset, not just channeling their fury through the so-called “war on drugs,” but also blaming the opposition, the media, the left—anyone who stands in their way of imposing their rule. This is a dangerous inflection point for the Philippines. Many of Duterte’s supporters have shown a willingness to disregard legal frameworks in pursuit of what they see as decisive action. Their votes for figures like Bato dela Rosa and Robin Padilla—both champions of Duterte’s law-and-order approach—reflect this demand for “action,” even if it lacks reasoned policy backing.
The reactions of Duterte’s allies further demonstrate this mindset. Former National Task Force to End Local Communist Armed Conflict (NTF-ELCAC) spokesperson Lorraine Badoy accused President Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr. of authoritarianism, stating, "The Marcos administration, Bongbong, has shown its true face. Fascist, dictator, we should all be afraid." Meanwhile, former presidential spokesperson Harry Roque has urged Filipinos to take to the streets and assemble at EDSA in protest of Duterte’s detention, calling for mass demonstrations to challenge what he labeled an “illegal arrest.”
The Interahamwe Parallel: A Warning from History
A historical precedent for this kind of violent evolution exists in Rwanda’s Interahamwe militia. Initially a youth wing of the ruling MRND party, the Interahamwe were radicalized by government propaganda that framed the Tutsi population as an existential threat. Once the genocide began in 1994, these militias, armed with machetes and state backing, carried out mass killings with horrifying efficiency.
A key similarity emerges: the Interahamwe were not rogue actors. They operated with the tacit approval, and often the direct support, of the Rwandan state apparatus. Likewise, in the Philippines, Duterte’s war on drugs was not an underground movement—it was state policy. The police, emboldened by Duterte’s fiery rhetoric and promises of legal protection, acted as executioners. The question now is whether elements of that machinery will persist even without Duterte at the helm.
The Path Forward: The Need to Seek Truth and Justice from Facts
To avoid the descent into unchecked violence, the Philippines must follow a different model—one rooted in accountability, transparency, and a firm commitment to truth. Rwanda, despite its tragic past, offers an example of how a nation can confront its darkest history and emerge stronger. The Rwandan government established truth and reconciliation commissions, prosecuted key perpetrators, and invested in rebuilding national unity. The Philippines must take a similar approach, ensuring that justice does not stop at Duterte but extends to all who enabled the violence.
The first step is to seek truth from facts. The Duterte years must be examined with honesty, free from revisionist narratives that attempt to sanitize his administration’s excesses. This means acknowledging the victims, investigating abuses, and ensuring that those responsible—whether policymakers, police officers, or vigilante enforcers—are held to account.
Furthermore, the government must reinforce its institutions to prevent the emergence of lawless factions. This includes reforming the police force, ensuring independent oversight of law enforcement, and upholding human rights protections. Without these safeguards, the remnants of Duterte’s war on drugs could evolve into a more dangerous, decentralized form of violence.
A Defining Choice for the Nation
Manila now faces a defining choice. Will it embrace the rule of law and accountability, or will it allow Duterte’s legacy to fuel further lawlessness? The international community is watching, but more importantly, the Filipino people—especially those who have suffered under the drug war—deserve justice.
Duterte himself once declared, “You will just have to kill me.” His bravado aside, justice does not demand his death—it demands accountability. The Philippines must now decide whether it will stand for truth or allow the shadows of its past to dictate its future.
